


Vigilante Roommates

by titC



Series: Didn't See It Coming [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Matt Murdock is a Catholic, Matt Murdock is a little shit, on the mat(t), still not talking about things (what things)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19752829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: They're just roommates. Right? (Wrong)





	Vigilante Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel) for the beta! ♥  
> For my [DaredevilBingo](http://daredevilbingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt _on the mat_

In the end, they didn’t even have sex.

Murdock led them to the bedroom, and Frank let him set whatever pace he wanted. Looked like it had been a long time for him; more than for Frank. Beth… he’d have to check up on her, but later. Now, there was Red touching him through his shirt, his eyebrows twitching every time he could feel a scar through the fabric; there was Red with that weird half-smile on his face, enjoying himself but a bit confused, too.

Frank wondered if he’d ever been with a guy. If he hadn’t, it didn’t seem to faze him much; his smile only widened a little when Frank removed his tie and opened his shirt. Maybe there just hadn’t been anyone since that girl who’d died on the warehouse roof. But then again, he’d been muttering _roommates_ all evening, so Frank went with the theory Murdock was still trying to wrap his brain around it all. He was a worrier, Murdock. He overthought shit, he turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t let things be. That was why he was a lawyer, and Frank was a soldier. The kind that went and followed orders, at least before it all went to hell. Never the kind that gave orders and stayed behind.

“You’re using my soap,” Red said. His nose was in the crook of Frank’s neck; it almost tickled. “And my laundry detergent.”

“Yeah. Problem?”

Red’s hair was longer than Frank’s, and it _definitely_ tickled when he shook his head. “Take that shirt off.”

“You giving me orders? This how you think it’s gonna be?” Instead of doing as he’d been told, Frank took Red’s glasses and stepped away to fold them and put them next to his talking alarm clock. That earned him an annoyed sound, and Frank smiled. Not so fixated on being _roommates_ after all, yeah? “What do you want?”

“I said – ”

“I heard you.” Frank grabbed some of Murdock’s hair and pulled his head back. From the way his nostrils flared, Murdock liked that. “You asked me; now I’m asking you. What do you want?”

“Foggy said…”

“I know what he said; I was there. Doesn't have to be that way. _What do you want?_ ” Frank gave a sharp tug on his fistful of hair.

“I want my gear back.” That was a Red smile, cocky and ready to fight, but his eyes were not hidden. They were focused on nothing at all, and it was like all this cockiness was aimed at the entire world instead of just Frank.

“No.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Frank.” He twisted his head to try and free it, then when that didn’t work he slipped out from Frank’s grip and shoved him down on the bed. Oh, he enjoyed that, enjoyed thinking he was in charge, yeah. Frank moved a bit further away on the bed and leaned back on his elbows to watch Red climb on the bed, his knees on either side of Frank’s hips. It looked like he could either kiss or hit Frank.

“Don’t care what you think.” Murdock’s shirt was hanging open over his torso, and Frank knew exactly where to put pressure, right where he’d broken his already cracked ribs. Murdock snarled and batted his hand away, and Frank caught his wrist. “You’re not getting your stupid mask back anytime soon. You’re on the mat, and if you get up you’re only going to get more hurt. You know what that means, Murdock. That means you got to stop for a while.” He squeezed the wrist hard enough to make Red scowl.

“I can fight.” 

Oh, Frank could believe it. Didn’t mean he was going to let him.

“Whatever.” Going into a fight when you didn’t need to, especially when injured, was stupid. Frank grinned and flipped them over, careful not to put weight on Murdock. “Didn't see that coming, uh?”

Of course, Red wouldn’t admit anything, and he tried to hook a leg over Frank's to do some of that jiu jitsu shit he was so fond of. Frank was having none of it and sat back on his thighs.

And then Murdock yawned.

He tried to contain it then slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was still a great big yawn and it ended on a few blinks. “Sorry,” he said.

“Guess you need your beauty sleep, Red.”

“Not tired.”

“Right.” Frank left the bed and looked down at Murdock. Yeah, his face was a bit pinched. “I’m not tucking you in.”

“Aw. You staying in tonight?”

Well, the last couple nights had been quiet, and he was a bit buzzed from the booze anyway. “Fine.”

Frank went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change into more comfortable clothes for the night, and looked at his face in the mirror. He’d never been pretty, not like Murdock; on top of the scars, his nose was broken and his ears were sticking out, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. But then again, Murdock couldn’t see it anyway. He ran a hand over his face. But maybe he could feel it, Frank thought.

He went back to the bathroom and found Red sitting on the bed, wearing boxers and nothing else.

“You’re using my toothpaste, too.”

“Yeah.”

Murdock shrugged. “My turn, then,” and he left the bedroom.

Frank looked down at the sheets, slightly mussed by their earlier tussling. Red had his own side, close enough to slap his alarm clock or check his phone. Which he hadn’t put to charge yet. Fuck, that wasn’t Frank’s problem if he couldn’t – _fuck_. Fine, he’d plug the phone in for him. That done, he walked around the bed, threw the covers back, punched his pillow a couple times and settled _in_ the bed. Red better not throw a fit.

A few minutes later, they were both under the covers and pretending everything was normal.

“Frank,” Murdock finally said.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t… when you use stuff, can you put them back right where they were?” A sigh. He must have sensed Frank’s puzzlement. “I’m blind, Frank.”

“Ninjas, yes; shampoo, no?” It was easy to forget there were things he couldn't do like Frank could, that he had to cope in other ways.

Murdock laughed a little. “Something like that, yes. Shampoo’s not trying to kill me; it’s just sitting there, one bottle among others. I have to open and smell them to know what they are, so I usually rely on placement.”

“All right. Anything else you want to tell me?” Frank turned on his side and put his head on a hand. There was just enough light from outside to see outlines in shades of gray.

“Hm. Not right now.”

“How long have you been sitting on that, Murdock?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“But now it does?”

“Looks like you’re staying, now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, looks like.”

“Okay then. Night, Frank.”

“Night.”

Ah, dammit. Frank bent just enough for his lips to brush Murdock’s but bumped their noses instead.

“Smooth.”

“Shut up. It’s dark.”

“Oh, is it?” Little shit moved his head just enough their mouths met, and Frank felt Murdock’s smile against his own lips.

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” and that got him a happy little noise in answer.

But fine. It wasn’t too bad as far as goodnight kisses went. _I’m fucked_ , Frank thought.

Next few days were much of the same.

Murdock left for his office in the mornings, Frank worked afternoons at the range, and they spent their evenings together. They both slept in the bed now and Red wasn’t hiding he was awake when Frank came back from doing a few night rounds, but nothing else happened between them. Maybe because they’d both been a bit drunk the other night, maybe because Murdock was having second thoughts; it was hard to say. Frank didn’t push it; it didn’t matter.

There was that night Murdock stitched a cut on his shoulder blade, his hands gentle and careful. He said he could smell the blood as soon as Frank was back. He got up and fetched the first aid kit because he apparently could tell if was Frank’s and not anyone else’s, helped Frank take his vest off, even asked if he should kiss it better when he was done. Frank wondered later if it had been an overture or just a joke as he’d first thought, but it didn’t happen again. And it didn’t matter. Really.

Karen came to see him one day at the range and she was pissed that neither Frank nor Matt had told her from the start, but she finally admitted that there wasn’t much to say. Frank had moved his things in two weeks ago, and that was it. She ranted about them both being tight-lipped, repressed jerks and left, and that was that. Frank went back to dismantling, cleaning, and checking guns, and when he got back to the apartment Murdock handed him a beer in welcome.

“Karen told me she’d gone to talk to you,” he said.

Frank shrugged and took the beer. “Yeah. Think she’ll be fine now. Needed to get it off her chest.”

“Well, she wasn’t angry at me anymore when she came back, so thanks.”

They clinked their bottles and dropped the subject. There wasn’t anything else to add after all. He’d have to tell Curt he’d found new digs and he was pretty sure David would quickly find out about who Matt also was, but that could wait. Frank didn’t even know _what_ he should tell them, so. For now, he wouldn’t.

There were other things to talk about, anyway, like the meth cooks who thought they could set up shop behind a long-closed butcher’s. Murdock, of course, perked up.

“Do you want me to come?”

Frank sighed. “What part of _You’ll get your gear back when you’re healed_ wasn’t clear?”

“Well, you usually don’t tell me where you’re going.”

Karen had lied when she’d said communication was important. Communication was bullshit and only led to more problems. “Figured you’d want to know.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re not coming.”

“Fine.”

“Or following.”

“Nope.”

Really, Frank was starting to be suspicious of how little Red was protesting the Stay Put rule, but he hadn’t found anything suspicious around the apartment. He’d taken away all the combat boots and batons, all the cargo pants and all the bandanas he could find; and he was pretty sure the Sister would not let Murdock borrow any of those either. Not that he couldn’t still go out if he wanted to, but he would be more recognizable without a mask.

Well, as long as he didn’t start looking for trouble too soon, get hurt again, and so force Frank to play by his rules for even longer… Frank wasn’t about to complain.

* * *

Living with Frank was very different from living with Foggy, and also not different at all.

Since the day they met, Fogs had been cheerful, encouraging, enthusiastic; he’d dragged Matt out of books and into his family, his groups of friends, his favorite food places; he’d narrated the world around them and chased the cold away. With Foggy by his side, Matt found he didn’t have so much anger and resentment in him. He’d been his first real friend, and he’d always be his best and sturdiest anchor.

But Frank? Frank didn’t make the anger go away. Frank was not chatty, he made the bed every morning with military precision, he didn’t hug Matt out of the blue or take him to meet the friends he hadn’t ever admitted out loud he had.

But he was just… there. And Matt had forgotten how that changed everything, especially with someone who knew all of him like Foggy hadn’t back then. Frank was _there_ : he brought him Tylenol when he came back home (blind) drunk after celebrating a win with Karen and Foggy, he did something to the washing machine so it wasn’t as noisy, and he made absolutely sure he wouldn’t go out as Daredevil again before he was fully healed. He would call him an idiot and a little shit then leave coffee on the bedside table; he would make fun of Matt’s love of thick socks and sigh every time he mentioned Thurgood Marshall but also pull the covers back over Matt whenever he got up first.

And it all made Matt absolutely mad, furious, _really_ , and also horribly fuzzy and soft inside and he knew, he just knew what Stick would have said. And he hated that he couldn’t shut that voice up, not entirely.

Like the sirens, like the screams for help, like the gunshots.

So one day, he bought rope and ordered new gear that he had delivered at the office.

“Surprise for Frank,” he told Karen and Foggy. “Since he’s helping out.”

It was a big fat lie.

Matt cooked sometimes. He had a good nose for it after all, and now that Frank had made it his mission to keep the fridge and pantry well-stocked he enjoyed experimenting again. And it’s not like he didn’t have the time, these days. Before Frank moved in, it was day job, get home, quick nap, scarf down a sandwich or a can of beans, night job, crash for a few hours before getting up and starting all over again. He’d always made sure to have some veggies and fruit and protein in there somewhere, a banana he bought on the way to the office or a salad for lunch maybe; but Frank insisted on decent meals. _Your body is your first and last weapon,_ he said once. _Gotta take care of it._ Matt supposed it was a Marine thing, like the hospital corners on the bed and the meditative gun cleaning on the coffee table.

So Matt listened to cooking podcasts, checked websites, asked for Sister Angie’s recipes, and ignored Maggie’s teasing. He didn’t have a _boyfriend_ , thank you very much. He had a _roommate_. Fine, they slept in the same bed and they’d kissed once, but it had happened, well, just the once. He’d also kissed Claire that one time, right? Frank hadn’t tried anything else and he hadn’t reacted to Matt’s _Should I kiss it better_ little joke, and that was fine. Totally fine. He was mulling on how _fine_ everything was while he chopped onions and Frank oiled his boots.

“You know the empty lot two blocks from your office?” Frank asked.

“The one where no one can build until it’s decontaminated? Yeah.” Chop, chop. “Why?”

“Yeah, that one. Decon’s not gonna happen. Been bought by some shady company, they’re shipping truckloads of that shit from there to wherever.”

“Uh. That's where an alien ship crashed, right?” Onions in the pan, tomatoes on the chopping board.

“Right. That’s where I’m going tonight. Bust them up.”

“Do you even know what they’re doing with it?”

“Extracting alien fuel. To make dirty bombs, I heard.”

Matt put the knife down. “I can – ”

“No.”

“I’m better.”

“It’s been three weeks. Not enough for broken ribs.”

“But I’ve…”

“I know. I’m going in alone.”

But Matt didn’t like that at all, and he thought of the batons and the cargo pants and the combat boots waiting for him. He wouldn’t let Frank go into what sounded like a dangerous situation without backup.

Dinner eaten and dishes done, Frank put on his vest, took some guns and ammo, and walked out. Matt waited a while; Frank wasn’t about to go straight to the empty lot. 

Matt would give it an hour or two, wait for the streets to empty a bit more before going there; it should be enough. When he left the apartment for the office where he’d stashed his new gear, it was almost midnight. He was going to suffer with the new boots, but that was Frank’s fault; he shouldn't have hidden Matt’s old ones. Insisting Matt quit being Daredevil for six whole weeks was stupid anyway; he’d never stopped that long after breaking ribs.

Soon enough, he was right on top of the low-rise next to the empty lot Frank had mentioned. He focused his senses on the place, and – there. Frank’s heartbeat that he knew so well now, slow and steady. He was still observing, good. A few goons loading up a truck, a strange pungent smell he couldn't quite identify, orders to start digging up again… Matt climbed down and sneaked in behind the barriers.

He made his way to flimsy buildings where he was pretty sure were offices of some sort, and he hoped to find more information there.

But then Frank made his move.

Gunshots, screams, and Matt ran to where it was all happening. Frank wasn’t killing anyone as he’d promised but it meant the wounded could yell warnings to their buddies, and Matt suddenly understood Frank’s exasperation with Matt’s own rules. The danger it put him in, to not finish them off.

But it was the right thing to do, of that Matt was certain. He went after those Frank had left behind him, the trail of bleeding bodies with mangled limbs, dislocated joints, or shot kneecaps. Matt knocked them unconscious and kicked away the guns he found, concentrating on what sounded like the operation’s boss on the phone demanding more goons _now_. Matt listened for intel right until a hand closed over his mouth and he was dragged backwards.

“You fucking idiot, what are you doing here?” Frank hissed. The hand lifted.

Matt grinned. He hoped there was enough light for his _roommate_ the Punisher to see it. “Hi, Frank.” He wriggled a little but Frank didn’t budge.

“Red.” It sounded like a threat more than a nickname.

“Boss just called for backup, you can’t stay here.”

“ _I_ can’t, huh?”

“You’re outnumbered, and it’s going to get worse very soon.”

“So you thought you limping in here would help?”

“I’m not limping!” Matt finally managed to free himself and turned around to face Frank. “Do you know how many of the people you left behind were about to shoot you in the back?”

“More than if I’d just put a bullet in them straight away.”

Matt gritted his teeth. “We’ll get them, this whole thing, but not tonight. Let’s just leave; we’ll plan better next time.”

“What next time?” Frank ejected a magazine and reloaded; the sound reminded Matt now of quiet evenings on the couch and it was _Frank’s fault_. “You’re leaving, I’m finishing this up.”

“No, you’re – watch out!” Matt pushed Frank down just before bullets hit the wooden boards right where their heads had been. “Shit, they’re already here. This way.” And he led them where he couldn’t hear anyone.

They wove around the crates and the trucks and the prefabs, but their luck didn’t last; soon enough they were caught in a real fight. Matt felt a little out of shape, but he still managed to knock down about half of the goons while avoiding serious injury. He was pretty sure they’d all seen him protecting his side, but who cared; he and Frank had to escape. _That_ was the priority. He knocked a rifle down with a baton and slammed the other on a skull and then – a gunshot, a heartbeat that stopped.

And then it was quiet.

He and Frank were the only people still standing, and there was one dead man now at Matt’s feet.

“He was about to shoot you,” Frank said.

“You killed him.”

“Wasn’t about to let anyone kill you.”

“But…”

“If you’re back out here, I don’t have to play by your goddamn rules anymore.”

Matt reached out to put his hand against a wall. He was reeling. “You only killed him. Not the others.”

“Your rules may say _no killing anyone_ , but mine don’t say _kill everyone_.”

“You shot him in the head. He’s dead.”

“Had a clear line of sight to his head. I took the shot.”

“But…” Matt’s mouth worked silently until he found more words. “He’s dead. I’m alive.”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t deserve – no one deserves – ”

“Can it, altar boy. You won’t thank me, I get it, but we have to go. You can yell at me some more later.”

“Fine.”

But Matt wasn’t fine. He didn’t want to yell. He wanted everything to make sense again, he wanted to understand. Frank had scrupulously kept to Matt’s own no killing code for weeks and now… He’d even kept to it after Matt had arrived, then as they’d fought together, and right until it had been Matt’s life or the goon’s.

Frank had made his choice, and Matt felt the bile rise up in his throat. The lungs had stopped working, the heart had stopped pumping. The corpse had fallen to the ground with a dull thump and Matt had been alive to hear it all, remember it all. Frank was killing again, and it was Matt’s fault.

That guy had died. Frank had killed him because Matt had let the devil out too soon; but if he hadn’t… what about Frank, then? Had the choice been between his death or his… soul? Had he made that choice for Frank when he put the mask on?

* * *

Murdock sulked all the way back to the apartment.

He sulked in the streets, he sulked on the roofs, he sulked his way through unlacing his new boots and untying his stupid hand and wrist ropes and Frank was _done_.

“What do you want me to say, Red? That I’m sorry I chose you over that scum?”

Matt stopped fiddling with the ropes. “It’s too big an operation for one man to take down,” he finally said. “You needed backup.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked an idiot with broken bones.”

“I didn’t want you to go in alone.”

“And I didn’t want you dead.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! Frank, you didn’t…”

“How can you be so naive? How can you still believe these assholes deserve anything other than a bullet to the skull? They chose their paths, Red!” Frank wanted to hit Murdock, he wanted to chain him up again so he’d stop being so reckless and idealistic in a place where it would get him killed sooner than later, he wanted to shake some fucking sense into him.

“They could choose again, they could change, they could…”

“Bullshit. That guy chose to shoot you. That's the choice he made. If he can choose to kill, then he knows he’s free game too.”

Matt shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He stood up, let his bundled up ropes fall to the floor, and went to stand right in Frank’s space. He looked dangerous, his voice lower than usual and his fists loosely curled. Frank looked down into his empty eyes and angry face. “ _You’re_ not free game,” Red said.

“Yeah? Says who?”

“Says me.” He shoved Frank until his back was right against the wall between the two giant windows, one hand flat over the skull on Frank’s chest and the other gripping his arm.

“And you are? Should have let him put a bullet in your head, yeah?”

“You shot me in the head before.”

“You were wearing your stupid helmet.”

“You didn’t know it would hold.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

Matt shrugged. “Didn’t kill me.”

Uh. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“No.” Fine. Frank would ask again later. The hand around his biceps moved to his vest and Red started tearing open the thick Velcro straps. “You’re not free game, Frank. No one is, not when there’s always a shot for redemption.”

“Always? You think I still got one, altar boy?” Frank caught Matt’s hands. “That what you think?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t regret anything I’ve done, not one kill. You hear me? Not one kill.” He let go of the hands to take his vest off and throw it in a corner where Red shouldn’t stumble over it. “Especially not when it’s someone who was about to…” _Kill you_ , he didn’t say. Kill anyone who didn't deserve it. “I’d do it all over again. Redemption’s for people who want it, people who believe in it. I’m not one of them.”

“I am. I believe in it.”

“I know.”

“I believe in it for you, Frank.” And he was so earnest when he said it, too; his palm flat over Frank’s heart like he could convince him by sheer will. He truly had that kind of faith.

“You’re an idiot.” Frank covered Red’s hand with his own. “Not everyone is worth saving, Matt.”

“Aw.” He smiled then, a cocky little smile that was both the lawyer’s and the devil’s. “Agree to disagree?”

“No. I want you…” Frank took a fistful of hair and hoped Red could feel how hard he was looking into his eyes, “I want you to be more careful. I want you,” and he turned them around so it was Matt against the wall now, his skull cradled in Frank’s hand so it didn’t hit the brick, “to remember who I am and what I do. I want you,” and Matt’s eyes fluttered and closed, his red lips parted, and Frank forgot what he wanted to say.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Ah, fuck.

* * *

Funny how even after being blind for so long, he still blinked as if to clear his vision. Matt knew the ceiling was a few feet over him, but he would never see it. He heard Frank do something in the kitchen while he was still trying to get the world to make sense again. He knew what was up and what was down now, so: progress.

“That good, huh?” Oh. He’d missed Frank leaning over the back of the couch and looking down at him.

“Just been a while.”

“Uh huh.” Frank was smiling. Matt wanted to feel it, feel his smile; it was too rare and he could hear it in his voice but he wanted… He reached up but Frank caught his fingers right before they touched skin. Oh, well. “What?”

“You called me Matt.” More than once, in fact.

“That your name, right?”

Matt hummed. He was going to melt into the couch and disappear; he was _liquid_.

“Thought you said you wanted me to use your name.”

“Hm. I like it.”

“You like your name?”

Matt tugged his hand free and flicked Frank’s nose. “Hey.”

Frank huffed. “Careful with the nose.”

“Aw.” Matt’s hand fell on his stomach and he made a face. Sticky, ew. “I’m disgusting. Your fault.”

“Damn right.” The smile was back.

“Gonna clean up.” But, well. The couch was comfortable.

“You can’t even stand.”

“Sure can.”

But he didn’t complain when Frank hauled him up and they ended in the shower together.

Frank, it turned out, was a bit ticklish.

_3:12am_ , the clock said. Matt sat on the bed and rubbed his face. He’d have to shave for court tomorrow – today. He heard Frank walk in and stop in front of him.

“You going to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe lie down, then. Be easier.”

“Right.”

Frank fell asleep quickly, as he always did; he didn’t move at all when Matt pressed his forehead and one hand against Frank’s back. He could both hear and feel his heartbeat, then, strong and slow.

Matt smiled. Yes, Frank was right. It was easier that way.


End file.
